


Age of Experimentation

by whoa_omo



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Coming of Age, Desperation, Gen, Masturbation, Omorashi, Remus exploring his sexuality, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Watersports, Wetting, golden showers, transphobic microaggressions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-13 02:41:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29146107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whoa_omo/pseuds/whoa_omo
Summary: Remus Lupin knows who he is. He knows what he is. He knows who he loves.He's learning what he loves.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23





	Age of Experimentation

**Author's Note:**

> This is a piss kink account. Not into it? Don’t read.
> 
> I take requests but don’t guarantee I’ll write them; I’m pretty busy on main.
> 
> This fic contains some transphobic language/behaviors. Not too much, but a bit. From an authority figure as well as from parents. To be absolutely clear, what they say is WRONG and BAD and HARMFUL to trans kids and I absolutely do NOT condone it. Fuck JKR; my Hogwarts is diverse and inclusive and fucking celebrates trans kids. If you side with her on this, kindly go somewhere else and stay there.

“Remus?”

A young boy clutches at his own knees on a worn, brown couch in a warm cottage. “Yes, sir. I mean, I would very much like to come to Hogwarts, sir.”

“Do you understand why you would have special rules that nobody else does?”

Remus’s hands clench on his knees, and he ducks his head. “Yes, sir.” In the following silence, he raises his head to find Albus Dumbledore looking at him expectantly. “Because I’m a werewolf,” he mutters, upset to have to speak it. “Sir.”

Professor Dumbledore nods gravely. “Precisely. Now, I believe we have one matter to discuss before young Remus can attend. Hope, Lyall, I need to hear Remus’s own answers still.” The older man looks over his half-moon glasses at Remus’s parents, waiting for them to verbally agree. Remus feels a bit better at being made to admit aloud his werewolf status. Finally, Professor Dumbledore proceeds. “What name do you want your teachers and classmates to know you by?”

“Remus,” he answers quickly. 

“How do you feel about being called Remus most of the time but Amelia at official functions, such as at your graduation?”

He feels nauseous. “No,” he said strongly. “No, I … I can’t. I would rather stay home.” At least his parents have always used his chosen name and pronouns, even when he wasn’t sure what to choose.

Professor Dumbledore nods and presses his wand tip to the parchment in his hand. Remus wants desperately to read it. “Exceptions have been made before,” the older man murmurs. “As to dorms—”

“Boys,” Remus says quickly.

“Girls,” his mother retorts just as quickly. “Honey, you’d be safer—”

“With the other boys!” he insists. “Mum, if I live with the other boys, I’m just one of a crowd. If you try to make me stay with the girls, everyone will know about me. If you try to make me stay with the girls, I’ll … I’ll run away!” he cries, feeling his eyes start to burn with anxious, scared tears. “I’ll run away from Hogwarts, and I won’t come home!”

A wrinkled hand lands on Remus’s shoulder and squeezes gently. “It won’t come to that, lad,” Professor Dumbledore says quietly. “I promise you that. Boys can’t live with girls. It’s in our charter.”

A tear slides down his cheek at the support from the man who was a stranger to Remus not an hour previous. “I get to live with the boys?”

Professor Dumbledore smiles and squeezes Remus’s shoulder again. “Well, you have to, so I’m glad you see it as getting to.”

He turns his own smile away from Professor Dumbledore and feels it dim somewhat as he looks at his mother. His own mother, who wanted him to betray everything he was and live like a girl again. Hadn’t he done enough of that, the first seven years of his life?

“Albus, are you sure that’s wise?” Lyall Lupin asks, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. A mean part of Remus wants his father uncomfortable if he’s going to suggest that living like a girl is best. “The other boys,” and at least his dad said that like he still thinks of Remus as the boy he is, “will find out eventually. How are we to trust that he’ll be safe when there are hormones in the air, when he’s surrounded by teenage boys who might think of him as a girl? Mistakenly,” Lyall rushes to add at his son’s upset face.

“Precautions will be taken,” Professor Dumbledore says calmly. “Perhaps we should see if young Remus has any questions and then allow him to play as the adults discuss the boring parts.”

* * *

He’s only eleven when he’s outed. Almost twelve, he comforts himself by saying, and he knows it was a minor miracle it took until February, but the fact remains that he has been outed against his will. It doesn’t feel good.

For months he fixates on what could have been, what might have happened if Peter Fucking Pettigrew hadn’t come in from detention at just that moment, if the boy hadn’t had so much to drink at dinner, if Remus himself had been better prepared … somehow. If he’d known Pete was going to rush in, desperate; unlock the bathroom door without even knocking; and barge in. If he’d known there was a modified caterwauling charm on their bathroom. If he’d been present with God or Merlin or whomever at his own conception and gotten to tweak his genitals.

But he hadn’t. It’s late May when he faces that fact, late May when he goes to Professor McGonagall with a list of alternate charms she could use the next year. Charms that would prevent someone coming in rather than just make a lot of horrifying noise.

* * *

“Remus! Get in here and lock the door!” Sirius calls even as Remus is pulling the dormitory door open. He rolls his eyes and takes his time just to annoy his friend. “I found something,” he says in a hushed tone as Remus flips the manual lock.

Well, that was illuminating. “Congratulations,” Remus says.

“Git.”

“Arse,” Remus responds easily. The banter is familiar and comforting after the sterile, unsettling environment of the hospital wing. “What did you find that necessitates locking the door?”

Peter frowns. “You talk like a professor, Remus.”

He shrugs, doesn’t have a comeback for that. “What is it, Sirius?”

In answer, the other boy hands over a magazine. Remus’s eyes grow wide almost instantly at the moving pictures. He looks up at Sirius, who grins. “Go on. Take a look.”

He doubts he’ll see anyone like himself among the nude figures, but what else is new? There are still easily a hundred naked bodies in a magazine of this size, he guesses wildly; if there isn’t anyone who looks like him, surely there will be plenty whose looks he likes. He opens it to the first page and nearly drops it. They’re not just naked bodies, not just models posing nude. No, the moving pictures are doing much more than trying different poses. The very first page shows a woman with long, dark hair with her mouth on a penis framed by ginger curls. As Remus watches, she bobs up and down, pulls off and licks around, tongues the head. As Remus watches, some part of him sits up and takes notice, takes mental notes on her technique so he can take apart a future lover as well as her.

As Remus watches, something changes in him that he’s never felt before. He feels heaviness in his pelvis almost like when he needs to wee, but it’s different somehow. His crotch is warm; he almost checks to make sure he hasn’t peed, but he knows he hasn’t. He hates how aware it’s made of his genitals, but … maybe he doesn’t completely hate the sensation.

“Look at page thirty-seven,” Sirius instructs softly. Remus feels like he’s in a trance as he flips the pages slowly. He sinks onto the edge of Sirius’s bed inches from James without ever noticing the other boy. 

Page thirty-seven is the first page that isn’t a man and a woman together. Remus fumbles the magazine in surprise. Two women are lying spread on a deep red cover of some sort, kissing each other naked. That’s all, just kissing, but Remus is caught. “Damn,” he whispers.

Sirius laughs. “Good enough to make the future prefect swear!” he announces with glee shining through his tone.

“Shut up,” Remus says absently, turning several pages. Two men were lying on their sides penetrating a woman between them. He flipped a few more pages. A man with Remus’s shade of hair knelt in such a way that his genitals were not visible, his mouth wrapped around another man’s penis. Remus hesitates before he flips away. He knows there was a hidden penis, not a hidden vulva, but for just a moment he had been able to pretend there was someone like him in a dirty magazine.

The phrase ‘dirty magazine’ echoes around in his head, and he shuts it suddenly with an odd thwapping sound. “Anyway,” he tries, then has to clear his throat. “Anyway,” he repeats, pleased when the word came out more strongly. “I hope you’ve done more than look at this while I was in the library.”

“Not really,” James admits. “We’ve each had a chance to look at every page, so you can keep it for now, really look at it.”

Merlin, he wants to do nothing more than slink to the privacy of his own bed, draw the curtains, and study every single page. “Later,” he says, more to reinforce his self-control than to keep his friends updated on his plans. “I was researching sticking charms. There’s an old variant that’s permanent without a long, complicated counter curse. I think that’s what we need for Avery.”

* * *

Remus Lupin has always been precocious in several ages. He spoke his first word at seven months, read his first chapter book at age five, and was potty trained by three and a half years old. He insisted on being called a boy from the day he learned the difference. He was twelve when he first experienced what he’d learn to call arousal.

He’s also twelve the first time he wets his pants post-potty training.

He’s _also_ twelve when he realizes that he loves it.

It starts understandably. He’s swimming with his friends - well, he’s lounging against a warm rock with Peter, the two of them watching James and Sirius try to drown each other. Peter has always been good for companionable silence, and today is no different. They’re leaning side by side, arms brushing with each breath, never speaking but always comfortable. There’s almost a daze settling over the pair when Sirius suddenly dives, comes up between James’s legs, and stands. James shouts, grabbing at Sirius’s ears, and Peter cackles. Mood broken, Remus suddenly realizes that he needs to pee rather badly. He’s been putting it to the back of his mind for a while, enjoying the slight need, but his need isn’t slight anymore. He stretches and smiles at Peter.

“I’m going to dry off and head back up to the castle,” he says, ready to suit action to words when Sirius makes a vaguely distressed noise.

“We just got out here!” he whined.

“We’ve been here for half an hour,” Remus says practically.

“Exactly,” Sirius says. “You promised you’d stay out with us for at least an hour.”

He had, hadn’t he. “What if I come right back?” he tries.

Peter shoves him lightly. It barely dips his right shoulder an inch into the water, but it jars his bladder nonetheless. He stiffens his legs and throws them at each other, rubbing his thighs together urgently. He has to go, no matter what Sirius says.

But he still lets Sirius’s protests slow him down enough that when he gets out of the hidden corner of the Great Lake they’ve taken over, he gasps and freezes, one hand darting between his legs briefly before he forces himself to stand up straight and continue to where they left their towels. He leans over to pick up his towel and wand and freezes again, this time clutching himself for several seconds before dropping his towel and spelling himself dry. He’s sure the other boys are staring at him, but he can’t help but grab himself several more times as he struggles into his casual, weekend clothes. He doesn’t know how he’s going to make it to the castle, much less to a loo, without releasing the contents of his extremely full bladder everywhere. If only it were a week day with their requirements of robes. He’s sure he could wet his pants while keeping his robes dry if he had to.

His bladder pulse at the thought of release, even if it was just an aside and not an indication that he gets to pee. Still, nobody told his bladder that, and Remus finds himself with two hands between his legs, two streams of urine winding down two legs. It’s actually coming out. He can’t … he can’t wait, he can’t stop it, he can’t slow it down, he can’t even keep it from speeding up. He’s still standing over his towel as his bladder breaks, and the flood from between his legs splashes all over it. It’s soaked. It’s … it’s gorgeous, covered in his wee, he thinks, aware that most people wouldn’t agree but unable to think of any other words for his wet towel. He rubs his thighs together, feels rivulets still dripping, feels stickiness, feels dirty, feels _dirty_ , feels amazing.

A hand flits briefly onto his shoulder, but it’s gone before it can do any good. “I’ll go bring you some clothes,” Peter offers.

“Thanks, Pete,” Remus whispers.

“They never made fun of me last year, none of the three times I had an accident at night,” Peter says quietly. “They won’t make fun of you now. Even Sirius knows there’s a line you don’t cross.”

Remus knows there’s a different line you don’t cross, a line about your wee and your sex life, a line he worries he’s already catapulted over. “Thanks, Pete,” he repeats.

* * *

“Remus!” James calls, and Remus jerks his head up, sufficiently distracted from his studying. “Hey, me and Pete were gonna see who can wee for the longest. Want to judge?”

Remus’s bladder twinges at the thought. He needs to go, too. “What, from the door?” he asks. The caterwauling charm was removed after their first year, but there are silent alarms on the bathroom in their dormitory that alert Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Flitwick if another boy is ever in there at the same time as Remus.

“Yeah,” Peter says as he reaches down to give himself a quick squeeze. His hand stays close to his crotch. “See, if we stand on either side of a toilet, facing each other, you could see,” the chubby boy explains. “You can be the person who decides if someone has held on for too long after you say go, and you decide the winner.”

He’s interested to see who can make their stream last longest; it’s a new idea. Pete is visibly needy, reaching down to squeeze himself again, but James has the second largest bladder of the four boys after Remus himself, determined last month with a holding competition and a handy measuring charm Remus had found. “Yeah, alright,” he gives in easily. “The goal is to be the last person weeing?”

Peter moans, squeezing himself again. “Yes, now can we please! Before it’s too late!”

“Sure.” Remus stretches his arms and rolls his neck as his friends head into the loo. He shifts his weight forward and pulls his leg out from where it had been contorted underneath him. Oh, Merlin, he really has to wee. James and Peter are waiting, though, and Remus crawls to the edge of his bed and slides his feet into his slippers. He glances into the loo: his friends are at the toilet unzipping. “Ready?” he asks as he makes his way over to the doorway. There’s a small yellow line around the interior of the doorframe, Professor McGonagall’s response to Sirius leaning just a smidgeon too far into the loo while Remus was brushing his teeth. Remus keeps a close eye on the line as he leans and lets the doorframe hold him up.

“Ready,” James says. He’s standing confidently, hand on his cock, feet slightly spread. Peter, on the other hand, is wiggling around and clutching at himself tightly as he nods his readiness. Remus reaches down and squeezes his own crotch in sympathy. Merlin, he hopes he doesn’t wet his pants judging this contest. (Some part of him remembers wetting by the lake and hopes he does, but most of him sincerely hopes he doesn’t.)

“On your mark,” Remus starts slowly. James shifts slightly. “Get set.” Peter edges closer to the toilet and takes aim, hesitantly relaxing his grip. “Go!”

Two streams of urine arc from opposite sides of the toilet gloriously. After a moment, James masters his urges and slows his flow, but Peter seems incapable of anything but pouring out all of his pee as quickly as he can. The smallest boy is moaning as his wee flows out of him. Remus shivers. He can’t wait to be doing the same thing, pissing out a torrent into the waiting receptacle. His hand creeps over and squeezes himself again.

“You look almost done,” James says suddenly, leaning his left hand against the wall as he studied Peter’s stream.

“I am,” Peter replied helplessly. “I had to go so bad, I couldn’t help it.” He shakes his penis, and Remus stares at the droplets that fly off and cling to Peter’s hand. “You win, James.” He offers his hand, and Remus is fascinated to watch James switch which hand was on his penis to shake Peter’s hand. There’s pee on James’s hand now, Remus thinks desperately, Peter’s pee on James’s hand. And James is still going, still weeing, now holding his penis with his wet hand, and Peter’s pee is on James’s penis now, and Remus feels like something in him is going to explode. It’s like looking at their one shared dirty magazine, he feels the same way now as he does when he watches the beautiful people have sex.

When he watches them fuck.

Thinking the profanity sends a jolt through Remus that makes his need to wee fade into the background. He needs … he needs … he doesn’t know what he needs, but he knows he needs something.

“You okay, Remus?”

He swallows hard against the lump in his throat and prays to Merlin and God both that his voice comes out relatively normal when he speaks. “Sure,” he says with as much practiced lightness as he can muster. He wonders if there are dirty magazines about peeing. “Just waiting my turn.”

“Oh!” Peter scurries over to a sink and starts washing hands. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you needed to go.”

James shakes his penis, transfixing Remus again. He’s so grateful, so pathetically grateful and also feeling so pathetically dirty, that his friends and roommates have no body shyness around him. They make him feel so welcome and so much a part of their boyhood, and here he is repaying it by being … _dirty_. He’s not sure what exactly he’s doing that wrong, but he feels it very deeply, that he’s wrong and dirty and bad.

He also feels very deeply that being wrong and dirty and bad is somehow good. It’s confusing.

“You sure you’re okay?” James pursues.

He feels flushed all over. His bladder is full, his crotch feels almost swollen, and touching himself to keep his urine inside is making the swollen and flushed feelings worse. “I’m fine,” he says as James moves to the sink. “I guess I needed a break from studying more than I realized.”

A minute later, the boys exit the loo, leaving space for Remus to finally rush in and slam the door. His need returns full force as he runs at the toilet, yanking at the fastenings on his trousers along the way. He stops two feet away and jams both hands between his legs, crossing his legs and bending over desperately. “No, no, no, not yet,” he gasps to himself. Saying the words aloud seems to help him regain control; he straightens with just the smallest leak in his boxer briefs. The wet spot teases him as it rests against his thigh. He wants so badly to release there, standing in front of the toilet, but his wand is on his bed. He doesn’t want to have to walk past his friends in wet pants when he leaves the _loo_.

He hesitantly pulls his right hand free and presses tighter with his left. With his right hand, he finishes opening the button and starts working the zipper down. It isn’t easy to do one handed, especially not with the other hand in the way. He squirms as another surge of need slams through him, leaving another streak of wee in his boxers. Finally, the zipper glides down as though it had never been impeded, and he turns while shoving his pants down. He slams his arse onto the toilet seat just as his sphincter gives out. The flood that comes out of him feels absolutely amazing.

* * *

He sits in the corner of the library that’s the least popular, or at least the least populated. He sets down his bag, unfastens his robes, and slings them over the back of his preferred chair. He doesn’t want to lose the one seat that can’t be spied on from the library itself or through the window.

He knows exactly where he’s going, and if he weren’t the way he is, it wouldn’t be a big deal. Unfortunately, Remus Lupin is a boy without a penis, and he really doesn’t want anyone but his friends knowing that fact. So he glances around carefully before going to the human sexuality section, and he glances around again as he selects the first volume that jumps out at him, _The Young Witch’s Guide to Masturbation_.

He leans back in his chair in a move he’s been practicing for months now. He didn’t want a new position to tip anyone off to his reading material somehow, so he made sure he was seen sitting like that in a variety of chairs in the library. He props one knee on the table and rests his large transfiguration text on it, holding the other side of the book carefully. He grabs the smaller volume he’d just retrieved and sets it inside his transfiguration textbook, opening it to the first page.

He’s greeted with a very detailed picture that thankfully doesn’t move. It’s a very close up photograph of some woman with all of her parts labeled. Remus studies the image for a couple of minutes, trying to work out what he’s felt with his fingers where and when. Eventually, though, he turns to a random page.

_The Down and Dirty_

Remus grins at the chapter title. It sounds like it’s exactly what he’s looking for. James and Sirius both were masturbating now, and it was only a matter of time before Peter joined them, and Remus … well, Remus was not about to be left out.

_Many young witches struggle with masturbation when compared to their male counterparts_ , the chapter starts. _No longer will your uncertainty rule you! To start, wash your hands, collect the following items, and meet me in your bed with the curtains drawn: a hand mirror, a small towel, and your beautiful naked self!_

Well, he can’t do that. Even if he could be seen with the book, there are restrictions on the human sexuality books. Boys can’t check out the girls’ books and vice versa. He’s surprised he can even read the girls’ book. He reads on instead.

_Turn back to the first picture. You know, the one we shocked you with when you first opened the book. Use your mirror to find each landmark on yourself. Touch everything gently so you’re familiar with how you look and feel both._

“Remus,” a professor’s voice says warmly, and Remus slams his books shut, one inside the other. He looks up into Professor Dumbledore’s serious eyes. The older man twirls his wand, and Remus’s ears pop. “A small privacy ward,” the headmaster explains as he takes a seat at the table. “Madam Pince and Professor McGonagall have been arguing about you.”

He blinks. Of all the things to be told, he really hadn’t been expecting that. “Sir?” he asks cautiously, unsure of the correct response.

“Quite so,” Professor Dumbledore says with a small smile. “I must apologize. Two and a half years ago, Madam Pince took ill during the time in which we discuss potential concerns about incoming students. It seems that in catching her up, I inadvertently let something slip through the cracks. Rest assured, Remus, she is now aware of your situation. She has already modified the wards on the human sexuality section for you, which I believe you’ve just discovered.”

His cheeks flame. Headmaster Dumbledore knows Remus is reading about masturbation.

“You are permitted to check out the books on both male and female sexuality,” Professor Dumbledore says in a voice a shade deeper than normal. Remus pays close attention. “This is not something you are permitted to mention even to your closest friends. Should they ask, you are allowed only the female sexuality materials.”

Remus gapes. “Sir!”

Professor Dumbledore smiles over at him. “I see you recognize the trust being placed in you.”

“It’s not that much trust,” Remus mutters, clapping a hand over his mouth an instant later. “I’m so sorry, sir,” he says quickly, replacing his hand.

“What do you mean by that?” Thankfully, the man sounds curious.

Remus straightens in his chair. “Well, I mean that I’m in a castle full of teenagers,” he starts slowly, but he warms to the topic with his next sentence. “I don’t mean to tell you how to do your job, and I recognize it’s an impossible job, but there is so much porn in Gryffindor Tower that I know I can find detailed, moving pictures of people having sex any time I want to.” He briefly considers mentioning the old magazine from his first year, but they still share that magazine. He doesn’t want it taken away. “I’m sure you know the statistics on how many students use the human sexuality books, and I’m sure it’s less than half of us. The rest figure it out with the porn. So, great, I can learn the technical terms for the parts of a penis, but as to how it works during sex … Professor, I’m sorry to tell you that I’ve known that for quite a while.”

The headmaster throws his head back and laughs. Remus glances around worriedly, but nobody seems to notice them through the privacy ward. “I’m sure you have,” Professor Dumbledore says finally, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. “Oh, Remus, I appreciate your honesty. You’re a breath of fresh air in these ancient halls.”

“The only questions I have left won’t be answered by porn or by these books,” Remus grouses.

“Perhaps I can help you,” Professor Dumbledore offers. Remus feels his cheeks burn again. Why did he bring them up? He takes a deep breath and nods.

“Okay,” he says quietly. He squares his shoulders, meets Professor Dumbledore’s eyes, opens his mouth, and promptly closes it. He really doesn’t think he should ask his questions here, not even with the privacy ward. “Sir, I’m sorry. Could we go somewhere else?”

Professor Dumbledore blinks, then comprehension slides onto his face. “Ah. Questions relating to your other condition?” Remus nods mutely. “I assure you, you have more privacy within this ward than within the walls of my own office.”

He’s still not totally comfortable, but he _trusts_ Albus Dumbledore. He also wants his questions answered. “I … okay. Well, I mean, I know I’m the only one here, but one day I might end up transforming around other … others like me. Can we … while we’re transformed?”

“Yes. You can also become pregnant at that time, if you’re able to become pregnant in general.”

Remus shudders and swallows against the nausea that hits him at the thought of being pregnant. “Thank you,” he whispers, taking a moment to center himself again. He pushes pregnancy thoughts to the back of his head and sits up straight once more. When he speaks, his voice comes out strong and steady, to his relief. “What do we look like, down there, when we’re transformed?”

Professor Dumbledore looks surprised. “That’s a good question. I’m not certain anybody knows. I will look into it for you myself.”

“What would happen if I were pregnant and transformed?”

“Your transformed body would continue to provide for the fetus,” Professor Dumbledore explained, looking uncomfortable. Remus wasn’t sure if it was the sex talk or the werewolf talk. “Even those children who are born infected do not transform within the womb.”

Oh, OW. Remus fights the urge to put his hands to his stomach protectively. He hadn’t even considered having a transformed child inside him. Yeowch.

“Did you have more questions?”

Remus shakes his head silently. He thinks he did actually have one more, but he can’t think of it, too caught in the narrowly avoided horror of werewolf fetuses.

“Should you have additional questions later,” Professor Dumbledore explains, “send me an owl to schedule a time to chat.” He waits a moment, waits for Remus’s nod and smile, and then stands up, twirling his wand in the opposite direction as before. Remus’s ears pop again. The ward is gone. “Remus, don’t forget: dinner begins in ten minutes.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you.” He hopes the headmaster recognizes the thanks are for the conversation, not the reminder about dinner, but he’s pretty sure the old man’s got it. Headmaster Dumbledore is no slouch.

* * *

After the winter holidays of Remus’s third year at Hogwarts, the unthinkable happens, and it happens in two distinct stages. In the first stage, he finds himself pacing in Albus Dumbledore’s office, throwing his hands in the air. “I can see them,” he argues. “I can feel them. They’re starting to grow, and I can’t … I have to do something about it.”

“There’s nothing you can do, Remus,” Professor Dumbledore says, folding his hands in front of his chin. “I’m sorry, but you don’t have parental consent to—”

“I’ve been reading,” he interrupts. “During school times, you have the power to give consent in the place of the parents.”

“In emergencies.”

Remus throws his hands in the air again. “This _IS_ an emergency!” he cries. “Sir, I don’t think you understand how _humiliating_ it is to have this happen. Imagine if _you_ suddenly grew breasts, sir!”

Professor Dumbledore smiles. “Remus, Remus, Remus. You’re becoming hysterical. It is perfectly natural for your body to grow breasts. It would be unnatural for myself or for another real man, but it’s nothing to get working up about for yourself. However, we may need to rethink your housing if it is as you say and your friends will soon notice.”

“No.” Remus spins on his heel and leaves Dumbledore’s office, refuses his summons the next day.

It’s two months to the day from that conversation with the Headmaster when Sirius notices. He sits beside Remus in the common room and grins at him even as he puts his arm around him. Remus is not reassured by the arm.

“You putting on some weight, Moony?”

Remus sighs and looks up from his homework. “Not that I’ve noticed, and you know Pomfrey weighs me every month.”

Sirius isn’t easily deterred. “You are,” he insists, then he reaches out and seizes Remus’s right nipple, pulling lightly. Remus flinches hard and slaps Sirius’s hand off him. “You’ve put on enough weight that you’re getting tits.”

Remus restrains himself from punching Sirius in his stupid laughing face. “I’m not,” he says tightly, shoving his homework and books haphazardly into his bag and rising from the couch.

“Hey, I was just messing with you!” Sirius calls to Remus’s rapidly retreating back.

He isn’t sure what happens when he isn’t around, but nobody ever makes comments about his growing tits again, and that summer, his father surprises him with parental consent for the series of complicated spells that would permanently flatten his chest.

* * *

When Remus is fourteen, Sirius Black wets himself in their dorm.

It’s the middle of the night, but Remus is something of a light sleeper. He’s always waking up when the other boys get up in the night, and he’s never the last person awake in the morning, but he’s mastered the art of falling asleep again quickly.

Well, mostly.

When Sirius wakes up that night, he gasps, and it’s to that sound that Remus awakes. He doesn’t move, though, having learned that staying still and quiet was the way for him to get back to sleep quickest. Sirius, however, is neither still nor quiet.

“No, no, oh, no,” the other boy whispers, jumping out of bed. Remus rolls his head slowly to look, to check on his friend. “Not yet, not yet, not yet, oh fuck, not yet.”

There are only so many reasons to get out of bed in the middle of the night, and Remus can only think of one reason that involved those words. Sirius lets loose a large squirm, hands flying to his crotch and squeezing his cock. Remus can make out the shape of it under loose pajama pants. Sirius steps away from his bed and freezes, fingers clenching. Remus holds his breath, one hand coming to rest against his own crotch, feeling the heat coming from his genitals. Sirius takes another step, swears in a loud whisper, and a moment later Remus can hear the hissing.

“No, no, no,” Sirius gasps, but his tone sounds more like _Yes, yes, yes_. Remus watches Sirius hang his head and watch his own urine flooding out of him at the same moment that his pants became saturated and started dripping loudly onto the stone floor. Remus can’t see that far down without moving his body and letting on that he was awake, something he’s pretty sure would mortify Sirius, so he contents himself with watching Sirius release his cock. For a moment, he swears he can see the stream coming straight through Sirius’s pajama pants from the head of his cock, and Remus presses down on his own dick, groping his urethral opening at the same time. Sirius’s pants cling to his cock.

“Fuck,” Sirius whispers, frozen as the drips continued to sound. Remus isn’t sure, but he thought his friend had finished and was only dripping from his soggy pants. “Fuck. Where’s a house elf when you need one.”

But Sirius gets a couple of towels and wipes up his mess, and Remus stays very still and very quiet, despite the need thrumming through his body, keeping him thoroughly awake. He waits while Sirius cleans, he waits while Sirius attempts to call a house elf, and he waits while Sirius climbs back into his bed naked and takes forever to fall asleep again. He waits through the calm, settled breaths, though an awake Sirius is neither calm nor settled, but when he hears the first snore, he springs into action. Okay, springs may be an exaggeration. He slowly rolls over onto his belly, places his hands one atop the other with the heel of his right hand pressing against his dick, and begins to rub against his own hand. It doesn’t take long for a rush of pleasure to come over him, and he falls asleep in that position, something Peter would laugh at in the morning.

* * *

It’s James who notices, James who says something. First he asks why Remus is so snippy outside of the full moon; Remus shrugs and said, “I’m just in some pain. Body aches. Not sure why it’s happening before the moon, though.” That explanation holds for a few hours.

Remus is sitting on his bed, reading their Transfiguration text aloud to Sirius, when he feels a strange sensation in his crotch. He isn’t masturbating, he doesn’t need to pee, and he has no idea what the sensation is. He sets aside the book and stands to go to the bathroom to check it out. His body has been randomly physically aroused a lot lately, and he’s sure he’s going to get in the restroom and end up wiping slick away from his cunt _again_.

But then James gasps behind him, and when Remus turns to look at him, Sirius gasps behind him. “Mate….” James hesitates visibly.

“What?” Remus asks, then, “Spit it out, James.”

“It’s just … I think you just got your period.”

Remus freezes, ice dropping into his veins. His period? He had managed to block from his mind that he would ever get a period. The dysphoria slams into him hard enough that he actually staggers, worse than when Sirius had poked fun at his growing tits the previous year. “Don’t joke about that,” he manages, knowing even as he said it that James wouldn’t. (Sirius, yes. James, no. Peter, no, but only because he’s too embarrassed about Remus’s trans identity to even consider it.)

“I’m sorry,” James says, and something in his voice tells Remus that his friend really is sorry. That maybe he doesn’t understand everything, but this one thing, he got. That he was trying to be a good friend in saying anything.

“Shit, it’s all over your bed,” Sirius says, sounding disgusted. Remus feels the strange sensation again and shudders. Is that his period happening?

“Hey, why don’t you get in the shower, and I’ll bring in a change of clothes for you,” James offers. “Sirius, you run down to the hospital wing and ask Madam Pomfrey for, er, supplies.”

When he strips for the shower, he nearly vomits at the proof of his body’s betrayal. He feels the sensation again, and then more blood runs down the inside of his thigh. It’s so familiar, so close to what it felt like to wee standing up, that he swallows hard and wonders if he’d ever be able to pee in the shower again.

* * *

He starts small, and he starts in Gryffindor Tower. Sitting in a comfortable red armchair, Remus resists the urge to squirm and touch himself. His bladder is absolutely aching from all the pee he’s forcing it to hold. He’s not sure how much longer he’ll be able to hold out, and he still has to make it upstairs to the fifth years’ dorm and his bathroom before he can release the flood inside of him. He wants so badly to grab himself like a child to help hold; he wants so badly to rub one out and let release come in the wake of his orgasm, right there in the chair by the fire, right there in front of the whole house.

He doesn’t let his hands wander below the table.

“Check!” James says happily. Remus castles. James considers for a long moment, and a surge of need causes Remus to cross his legs for the first time. None of his friends seem too even notice. “Check!” James announces again. Remus has to think hard to get out of the trap, but his distraction from his bladder causes him to have to squeeze his legs together _hard_ to keep it all in, a couple drops slipping past his defense to dampen his boxers. Fuck. He … he has to go. Now.

“Checkmate,” James says, and Remus doesn’t take the time to check behind his friend to see if he actually has a move. He tips over his king in concession and jumps to his feet.

“Be right back,” he says more to cover his sudden freezing than anything else, clenching his thighs together desperately to keep from losing control. He won’t touch himself. He can do this. It’s just crossing the entire length of the Common Room and then five flights of stairs.

In the end, he can’t do it; he loses control completely on the staircase and drenches his trousers. It’s a good thing he looked up all those cleaning charms before starting his experimentation.

* * *

When Remus is fifteen, Peter asks a good question.

“Who would you date, Remus?” the short boy asks in the middle of a conversation about Sirius’s checkered love life. “Not who do you have a crush on, but who would you actually date?”

He closes his book and thinks for a long minute. “Nobody,” he finally answers, hearing his surprise shine through in his voice.

“Nobody?” Sirius asks, looking upset.

“Nobody,” Remus confirms. “Look, between my two … problems … I have to have a lot of trust in the other person. That’s pretty much just the three of you, and I’d rather have my friends than try dating any of you and have it end badly.”

Peter blinks. “So you’re gay?”

Remus shakes his head. “I’m plenty interested in women, but I’m also interested in men.”

“So you’re interested in everyone, but you won’t date anybody,” Sirius summarizes.

Remus nods.

“That doesn’t seem very fair,” Peter complains. “Come on, Remus, we’re of an age! The age of experimentation! You should be experimenting with someone!”

He dismisses that, but he sits there for the rest of the conversation secretly thinking _I do plenty of experimenting on my own. Experimenting most people wouldn’t want any part in._

* * *

When Remus is sixteen, just weeks before Sirius does the unthinkable and uses Remus as a mindless weapon against an unwitting Severus Snape, Remus finds himself creating fantasies around an equally unwitting Severus Snape.

It starts in History of Magic, the longest and most boring class of all of Remus’s NEWT courses. Binns is so oblivious, he tends to talk through someone’s hand being raised, and he never allows restroom breaks for students. That day, Severus has been fidgeting since the beginning of class. Awful, full-bodied, distracting, wonderful, sexy fidgeting. By the end of class, Severus is grabbing himself openly, and Remus is trying very hard to hide that his hand is busy at his own crotch.

He follows Severus into the loo and passes the squirming boy at the urinals, taking a stall. He hears Severus’s groan as he finally releases into the urinal. He hears the splash and patter of pee on porcelain. He jams his hand in his pants, rubs hard, and gasps his own pleasure out into the sleeve of his robes.

As usual, he feels a little bit bad for getting off on someone else’s discomfort, on someone who doesn’t know he’s getting off to their need, but he keeps seeing Severus squirm, hearing Severus groan. For weeks, it’s all he masturbates to.

Until Sirius’s “prank” ruins even that.

* * *

He doesn’t speak to Sirius for months. Doesn’t even look at him, or worse, looks through him. Professor Slughorn makes concerned noises and pairs them together, but Remus ignores his former friend and does all the work while Sirius sits there trying to talk to him. Professor Slughorn tells them both off for the uneven distribution of labor and doesn’t try pairing them together again.

James is there for both of them, which bothers Remus a lot more than he lets on. Sirius violated Remus and Severus both, nearly ended up with both of them dead, and James is acting like his best mate just dropped a dung bomb in Remus’s bed or something equally trivial. But he’s afraid of losing James, too, so he swallows his pain and plays chess, bites back an angry retort and sings along with the radio. 

Peter, though, is a godsend. He sticks with Remus, stays civil with Sirius but doesn’t act friendly toward him, jokes naturally with James. He’s taken to disappearing at odd hours, but Remus doesn’t mind. It’s probably a secret girlfriend he doesn’t want his friends to know about yet. Wouldn’t be the first time.

Remus is in his favorite courtyard sprawled on a magically-cushioned wooden bench enjoying a full bladder and some sunshine when Peter drops onto the bench at his head. Peter’s thigh is pressing comfortably against the top of Remus’s head as he takes in an audible breath.

“I think we have to forgive Sirius,” the rat says quietly.

“I don’t think I can,” Remus replies equally quietly.

Peter nods. “I get that. I do. But I also get that he didn’t think it through. He didn’t realize what he was doing. You know as well as I do how impulsive he can be.”

It doesn’t feel like a very good reason to forgive someone, and he says so. Peter huffs a soft laugh.

“I know. But he’s your friend, and you love him. That’s the real reason you’ll forgive him, and I think you’ll both be happier if you go on and forgive him now instead of leaving it to fester over the summer.”

Remus is kind of impressed that Peter knows the word _fester_ , but he keeps that to himself. He also keeps to himself the spike of need that has him shifting his arse on the bench, drawing his right knee up until his foot rests on the bench beside his left knee. “I don’t think I can,” he repeats.

“Fake it until you make it,” Peter says with a shrug. Remus snorts. “I’m serious,” Peter insists. “Tell him you forgive and act like you have until the day when you wake up and realize you actually have.”

It’s actually a sound approach. Remus just doesn’t want to. It’s so much easier to be angry with Sirius. The boy almost got him executed, almost got Severus eaten, almost got James eaten. But Peter doesn’t have to point out to him how draining his anger is. His grades have slipped a bit. He’s sleeping more than usual. He’s more often alone than with a friend. He’s barely played with his bladder, even. Today is the first day in three months that he’s done a serious hold. “Okay,” he agrees, almost silently, but Peter can hear him, he’s certain. Rats have sensitive hearing.

“Okay,” Peter repeats at much the same volume. “Whenever you’re ready. Just let me know if you want me to be there.”

Remus swallows against a sudden lump in his throat. “Yeah,” he whispers. “Please.”

They relax in silence until a particularly strong urge strikes Remus. He can’t pull out his wand and tergeo his pants with Peter sitting right there; he has to get up and hope he can make it back to the dorm loo. (He also kind of hopes he doesn’t make it, but that’s half-hearted at best. He’s still enjoying his bladder, but he’s not in the mood for anything more anymore.)

Peter’s confused when Remus power walks through the crowded Common Room to the staircase to the dorms, right past James and Sirius playing gobstones with some younger kids. He follows gamely, though, stopping to lean in the doorway to their dorm room as Remus all but throws himself at the toilet, door bouncing back open instead of closing behind him when he kicks it. He can’t care, though. It’s coming out whether he’s ready or not. He glances up to see Peter turning his back and rips his trousers down, drawing his wand and silently using the tergeo charm to clean his boxers and trousers even as he slams his arse onto the toilet seat and lets go.

When he’s finally done, he looks up to see that Peter has stepped out of the dorm and shut the door behind him. He shrugs to himself and scrubs his hands. When he follows his friend, he’s surprised to see James and Sirius waiting on the landing with Peter.

“Sirius.”

James and Sirius both startle when Remus addresses Sirius for the first time in months. “Y-yeah, Remus?”

“I forgive you. This one time. This _one_ time, Black. Got it?”

Sirius pales. It seems Remus’s forgiveness is scarier than being cut off. “Got it,” he repeats quietly.

“On one condition.”

Peter grins in the background. James just looks confused. Sirius chews on his bottom lip with his eyebrows drawn together. “What’s the condition?” he finally asks.

“You have to apologize to Severus.”

Sirius draws himself up, takes a deep breath, and freezes. He deflates slowly and nods. “Whatever you say, Moony.”

“You don’t get to call me that,” Remus adds, feeling reckless. He can’t stand the intimacy of Sirius Black using his nickname right now. “You have no right to call me that anymore.”

Sirius pales further. His skin and hair are making an interesting contrast that part of Remus finds stunning and breathtaking and utterly attractive. “Of course, Remus. Anything else?”

He almost wants to ban his name as well, but what would he let Sirius call him, then? His dead name? No, thanks. “No, that’s all for now,” Remus answers finally. “I’m sure we’ll figure out a new normal as we go.”

He can tell that Sirius doesn’t exactly feel forgiven. Well, tough. Also, accurate. “Thank you,” the boy says, though.

“For what?” He’s genuinely curious. He hasn’t exactly taken the high road here.

Sirius ducks his head, stares at Remus’s shoes intently enough that Remus glances down to be sure there aren’t droplets of pee all over his feet. “For giving me a chance. For not putting more rules on me than those.”

He nods silently and turns back toward their dorm. He … he can’t. He’s done. It’s time for pleasure reading and early to bed.

* * *

When Remus is seventeen, a drunk Sirius kisses him, calls him pretty, and gets punched in the face by Remus and Peter both. “The thing is,” Peter says as he and Remus confiscate the fire whiskey, “I love Sirius like a brother, but the way he treats you sometimes just disgusts me.”

Remus flings himself at Peter. His smallest friend is so awkward about Remus’s gender sometimes, but when it matters, he’s there. He is there when Sirius isn’t.

* * *

“Landers, David!”

The Hufflepuff stands and walks across the stage, pausing to shake hands with Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Pensi. He accepts his diploma from Minister Minchum with an almost regal nod and turns to descend the stairs.

“Lupin, Remus!”

Remus sags in his chair in relief briefly. Despite having talked it over with Professor Dumbledore, he’d been so worried they were going to call his dead name. He’d decided not to even walk up there if that had happened. But he’d been called by his real name, so he stands and heads up to the stage.

“Well done,” Professor Dumbledore says just above a whisper.

“I’m so proud of you,” Professor McGonagall tells him at an actual whisper.

“You’re a credit to your species,” Professor Pensi says, and yeah, Remus actually hates that, but he knows it was intended as a compliment, so he nods without letting anything but his pride show on his face and descends the stage to return to his seat. Merlin, he needs to pee. It feels so good.

“Maxwell, Christopher!”

Remus passes close enough to Chris on his way back to his seat that he reaches out and claps the Ravenclaw prefect on the shoulder. Chris grins at him.

It feels like it takes forever just to get through the diplomas, he’s so used to doing things just with his own house and not with the entirety of his class. His bladder is already feeling the strain when the speeches start. He’s not sure he’ll make it, but he’s gotten so good at a silent, wandless tergeo charm. He can siphon urine out of his pants as quickly as he pisses it into them. He’s managed to wet himself in some incredibly public places with his newfound charm mastery, but he doesn’t want to just give in and wet during his own graduation until he has no other choice.

He’s openly squirming in his seat by the time Professor Dumbledore speaks his last words, but it’s okay: he’s not the only one. Chris beside him has a hand on his cock, the other resting ‘casually’ overtop to disguise the hold. Remus is a connoisseur of desperation at this point, though. He’s caught up in his own need pretty strongly, but his body can always spare some arousal for someone else’s plight. Chris isn’t moving around in his seat, but his right leg is bouncing fiercely, and the grasp he has on himself speaks volumes. He’s close to losing control. Remus can’t believe how lucky he is. One of the guys he has a crush on is desperate right beside him. It’s all he can do not to reach down and touch his dick, grope at his urethra, reach over and replace Chris’s holding hand with Remus’s own.

“Fuck,” Chris whispers suddenly, and Remus can’t remember ever hearing the other boy swear. He looks over out of the corner of his eye and sees that Chris has shifting his grip to get both hands on his cock. He looks seriously worried. Oh, Merlin, he’s about to—

Chris swears again, and Remus’s heart trips as he watches a small wet spot appear on Chris’s formal robes. It’s happening. It’s actually happening. He has to shift and cross his legs to keep his own flood in as the wet spot grows in fits and spurts, but it’s so hot. So, so hot. He can’t tell anymore if he’s leaked into his pants because his cunt is that wet. His dick is so hard it feels like it’s pulsing in time with his heartbeat. He’s so turned on. He needs to pee.

Chris finally finishes, a puddle beneath him and a large wet spot on the front of his graduation robes. Remus draws his wand then, slowly, and silently vanishes the puddle. It seems to be enough of a reminder that Chris draws his own wand and cleans up his clothing. Remus contains a writhe when Chris touches his crotch gently and pulls a face at the sensation. He doesn’t know why, but that grimace really hits him. He wonders if he’s capable of coming without touching himself. He feels like he’s on the verge of finding out.

But the speeches wrap up, and they’re dismissed to find their families and mingle and get ready to ride the Hogwarts Express back to London. Remus stands slowly and carefully, but it doesn’t make any difference: his piss streams out of him quite suddenly. He casts tergeo quickly, certain nobody has noticed that the valedictorian is wetting his pants.

But a wild urge steals over him. He almost cancels his tergeo, almost lets his urine wind visibly down his legs, almost announces to anyone in earshot that he has to _go_ , that he’s _finally_ going, that it feels _amazing_.

Rational thought returns almost instantly, thankfully, and he reinforces his charm just before it fails. It’s been such a good day, such an _incredible_ day, that he would hate to ruin it for himself by announcing his kinks in public. Let it be enough that he got to indulge to this extent, that Professor Dumbledore stayed true to Remus’s real name, that he made it through his speech without Sirius shouting anything lewd. There’s simply no need to announce something so private, not when it could ruin everything for him.

He has his whole life ahead of him, after all. A whole lifetime of experimenting with pee and desperation. He can’t think of anything he’d rather do.


End file.
